


Test Subjects

by clearinghouse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, First Time, Isolation, John Watson as the Companion Cube, M/M, Portal AU, Sexual Content, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Young Adult John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8764522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearinghouse/pseuds/clearinghouse
Summary: Portal AU. Volunteer test subjects at Aperture Science’s research facility are tricked into becoming permanent slaves to the facility; they are imprisoned and isolated from the outside world for the sake of becoming human guinea pigs for research tests. Sherlock Holmes is one such unfortunate test subject. John Watson is another.(You don’t need to know the Portal games to follow the story.)





	

The eerie, electronic voice stated: “The Vital Apparatus Vent will deliver a Weighted Companion Cube in three, two, one.”

Sherlock watched, intrigued, as a young man, also wearing an orange tester’s uniform but without the jacket component and lacking any portal gun of his own, fell out of the tube and landed at Sherlock’s feet.

“Bugger all, how did I… Ah? Ah! A person!” The fellow jumped onto his feet and embraced Sherlock with all the gratitude in the world. “Oh… I thought I was alone! Watson, John Watson, pleasure to meet you! Oh, thank god! Thank god!”

Sherlock merely thought about how he could use this young man to solve the next puzzle.

They travelled together in the manmade maze of destruction from then on. 

John was a fairly helpful companion, but not much more than that. He was heavily intent on escape but Sherlock had found him on a low floor, which meant he wasn’t especially clever. He didn’t know his way around the complex, so he wasn’t a former employee; probably he was the collegiate child of one. He looked tired and angry, suggesting he’d been awake down here for a while, but he walked with a forced relaxed air, marking him as someone who had experienced hard times.

Regardless, Sherlock was slowly becoming infatuated with him. Likely it was because he had been isolated from contact with anyone else for so long, but the young man was a bit spectacular in his own right. Sherlock would tell the fellow to wait in one place, sometimes for an hour or more, or he might tell him to risk his life with an impossible jump onto prototype gel, trusting only his shock-cushioning shoes to keep him from certain death. Sure, the young man would chide Sherlock for his controlling attitude, and shout at him and tell him he was crazy, and yet John went to incredible lengths to always do exactly as Sherlock directed.

The two of them passed each test, and each time the female computer-generated voice would say something congratulatory, creepy, and unhelpful. Sherlock could hear that the artificial intelligence behind the voice wasn’t really interested in them, though sometimes John tried to decipher some meaning in it. Sherlock could tell that, once or twice, John had thought earnestly about the kind of cake that might meet them at the end, which the computerised voice never failed to promise.

A couple of months later of this trying existence, hours after Sherlock and John had consumed some barely-preserved coffee and doughnuts that they had found in an abandoned office room, Sherlock at last discovered a way out. There was a lift to the surface. 

The two of them could see the sun through glass high above.

Sherlock stood with melancholy before the lift. The journey had been so lovely with kind, frustrated John at his side…

John ran inside the massive lift, bent down onto the reflective floor, and kissed the metal. “Finally! We’ve finally found it!”

Nodding to himself, Sherlock meandered over to some nearby consoles, and looked them over idly.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, be more excited, damn it!” John rolled around on the lift floor as if he were on a pile of gold. “Come on! We’re getting out of here, together! It’s going to—!”

Sherlock suddenly slammed his palm on a single unmarked button on a console ten feet from the lift.

The lift’s glass doors slid violently shut, separately the two test subjects completely.

The silence between them was deafening.

“Did…” John’s eyes widened with horror, his hands planting themselves fearfully on the hateful glass. “Did she just…?”

“No, the computer intelligence was not involved.” Sherlock slowly came to stand in front of the lift. He would give his companion an explanation, which was a commodity that John often needed from him. “She forgot about us weeks ago.”

Those shining eyes were so unfairly full of loyalty and concern. “Then… did you…?”

“It was clear that if I had given you a forewarning of my plan, you would never have allowed me to separate us.” Sherlock held his hands behind his back. “Do send a message to that loathsome brother I told you about, let him know where this complex is. Make sure he keeps any other novices from diluting the maze with their presence.”

“Sherlock! You bleeding bastard!” John’s face turned heavily cross as he hammered frightfully curled fists against the glass. “You’re staying in this hellhole, aren’t you!”

“Brilliant deduction,” Sherlock noted sardonically, in part to hide the pain of losing the first person he’d ever cared so much for. “The truth is that this is the third time I’ve found an escape to the surface, John. I have no intention of leaving the labyrinth.”

Sherlock, the willing test subject, was moved like never before as he watched John cry against the door. “No! No, no, no…!” John glared at Sherlock with a desperate hatred, or some other such emotion. “Damn it! I’ve always… I’ve always done what you asked, so, just this once, do what I say!” The young man struggled to keep his voice steady. “Don’t leave me, please, just don’t leave me like this!”

“You will not remain a prisoner here on my behalf. That would do neither of us any good.” Sherlock turned away, striding back to that simple console which held the power to finally free his friend. “The world beyond is no longer a place I care to live in.” Sherlock touched the controls sadly, wondering what these feelings were that were eating him up inside.

“Sherlock! No! Damn it…” John groped the glass helplessly. “If you’re really sending me back… If you’re really going back down again… Then, please!” John collapsed to his knees. “Please…”

“You’re repeating yourself,” Sherlock said, with a pathetic fondness that surprised even himself. 

John looked up at him pitifully. “Don’t you get it? I love you!”

What was that? Breathing rate increased, heart rate becoming a distraction. “S-Stockholm syndrome,” Sherlock replied immediately, “you are identifying me as your captor—”

“Oh god, I’m never going to see you again…” John curled in on himself, and wept into the edge where glass met metal. “I love you, you bastard, I love you so much…”

Can’t look away, eyes drawn to him, hearts can’t possibly split like this. Sherlock shook his head. “C-Cabin fever, delusional as a result of exacerbated isolation—”

“I’m coming back, you know!” The young man was suddenly filled with a hopeless fire, a futile determination. “I’ll come back down into this miserable place and look for you! It took so long for you to show me a smile, Sherlock, and… I just want you to be happy…” The livid fire inside him left as quickly as it came. “Tell me, w-will you find someone else to keep you happy?”

“No.” Resigned to his chosen fate, Sherlock’s hand crawled to a single lever.

John cried out, “Just one time!”

Sherlock paused, confused, and confusion was not an emotion familiar to him.

“Let me take care of you just once,” John hurried to say. “Please. Then I’ll, I’ll go.”

“I’m not so foolish as to let you out,” Sherlock replied tentatively. He had no idea what it was that John was asking for.

“Okay, fine, don’t let me out. Only, please,” the poor man pleaded. “This one time, do what I say?”

Sherlock would gladly do any task for his young friend. He left the gleaming console and returned to the glass doors, trying not to let his inner turmoil show on the surface when he met the burning despair in John’s eyes. Though John could not be permitted to remain here, Sherlock would miss his strong, sweet partner dearly. As a response to John kneeling on the floor, Sherlock also knelt, transfixed by John’s devotion to him.

“We’ll take care of you together.” John sniffled. “Your hands are my hands, ‘kay? Copy m-me.” One hand rose to his own face, and caressed his cheek.

Sherlock copied it like an automaton. 

“N-No, Sherlock. Your hand is mine, okay? Let me be the one to move it.” The young man started over. “Slow, like this, I… I want to feel you.”

For some reason, Sherlock did exactly as John directed, without too much embarrassment. His own long fingers mimed John’s movement exactly, and soon it was like Sherlock had no control over them. He merely watched, and mimicked. Soon, it was as if John’s large hands were warming his face, soothing him. Sherlock had to think to keep his eyes open.

“G-Good,” John made a shaky, tearful effort to smile. He was so sad, and so anxious; he watched Sherlock like a man who knew his time was limited. “I, I’ve wanted to touch you like this,” he struggled through sorry hiccups, “for a very long time.”

Sherlock wondered what sort of magic this was. Though it was not rational, he was sure that he could feel John’s own heat upon himself. John’s hands slowly stopped, but Sherlock’s continued, pushed by a force not his own. He’d been so alone in this world without John… He wanted to belong to John…

It was the quickest of movements, but John’s eyes flicked briefly to the side of the lift. At what, Sherlock did not know. Just as quickly, John faced Sherlock again. “Jacket, please,” he said warmly.

The words were barely comprehended. What had John said so kindly just now? Sherlock didn’t know, but he knew that his hands were at his waist, tenderly pulling the fabric up, and he had no idea what to do. No one had ever shown him such compassion and affection before, what was he supposed to do with it all?

“Your shirt, too? If that’s all right?”

John kept talking, soothing him with his gentle tones while he stripped Sherlock of his loneliness. He was so vulnerable, he needed John, would John take care of him?

The young man with him, at his side, a ghost all around him and never far from him, whispered, “I love you.” Loving hands treasured every crevice of his chest, lulling him into an otherworldly peace. 

Sherlock’s eyes could face reality no longer, and he shut them.

When he shut them, all he could see was John. John when he awoke groggily, John when he read an abandoned newspaper and asked Sherlock about the news, John when he chanced upon those muffins in the bionics lab, John when he discovered old milk left at a careless absurd angle in an old fridge moments too late.

There was a quiet, dreamlike sound of metal sliding and clicking into place. In the darkness of his own mind, Sherlock wasn’t sure what it was, or if it was real.

But then, abruptly and with a terrifying power, it was John who was stroking love into his cold body, filling him with the happiness that he could never have again. John crawled onto him, making him lie flat on his back, his head resting on a bunched up shirt, and—this must all be Sherlock’s imagination, so at some point, he had imagined John taking Sherlock’s shirt off him?

“Is this all right, Sherlock?”

“Oh, y-yes,” Sherlock murmured.

“You’re, you’re amazing.” John slid one hand around to his back while the other tucked underneath the top of trousers. “I got you…” 

“Yes…” Sherlock sobbed. “I-I need… I’m s-scared, John…”

“I’m here, I’m with you.” With closed eyes, Sherlock saw John lick him in his navel while he was finally completely defrocked, and the sight of it in his mind was more than erotic. It pulled at every nerve of his body, to see John’s tongue possess him, fill him, love him. He felt how John eased him from pain and loneliness into happiness and oh but this was a torturous heaven which John and Sherlock’s own lovesick imagination were supplying.

John licked his lips and swallowed to wet his dry throat. “Are you nervous?”

“Terribly,” Sherlock breathed. He was frightened most of all that his shameful need would repulse John and push him away.

“That’s okay… Is that okay?” John hesitated a moment, but Sherlock pleadingly nodded and moaned so deeply when John’s stray touch came into contact with his sore, uncovered length… That’s what that was happening, wasn’t it? Or had John found a way to sooth his weary soul? “Yeah, it’s okay, I’ll always take care of you…” The man kissed the length lightly. “Sh… You don’t need to do anything… Please, stay here, don’t leave me yet…”

“J-John, I—”

“Shh.” With a slow patience, John allowed his warm mouth to sink down possessively on Sherlock’s ache.

“John!” Sherlock screamed. To feel such heat in the core of his body was impossible! Please be there, let that be the real you, please be with me, John! 

He opened his eyes.

There, impossibly, was real-life John, on top of him and pleasuring him with a crazed madness. Sherlock reached for John without thinking.

John sucked harder, slurping loudly. His soft touch spread Sherlock’s legs widely apart, opening him up to the sweet devotion that John was so freely giving. Sherlock belonged to John. This young man owned every part of him. To dream of all the fun they might have together on the surface world… Perhaps Sherlock truly did have a future outside of his endless game.

Sherlock tried to spare his friend the ignominy of his greedy, disgraceful rapture. He tried not to come, and when he failed that, he tried to move his hips away, but such movement only encouraged John more. John massaged the hot need out of him with his gentle throat as the strained ache worked tirelessly to make its kind caretaker proud. Lovely warmth conquered Sherlock, and he moaned until all his breathe was gone from him. 

“That’s it…” John hugged Sherlock around the chest. “You can let it all out for me, you’re doing so well, Sherlock, I love you, please, I just want to take care of you, at least once…”

They could live in a house together. No, a flat. A flat in London would be acceptable. They could have jobs, like normal boring people. No, John could have a job. Sherlock surely would carry out some purpose in society other than having an occupation. 

These were details that had once horrified Sherlock and that now he was suddenly obsessed with. He’d never before discerned how acutely he loved John, how he couldn’t live without him. Having discovered how much of his heart belonged to John, it was trivial to deduce that he must be in love with the strongest, most reliable man he’d ever known.

When Sherlock next gained awareness, he found that John again had his shirt on and was holding Sherlock to him, unwilling to let him go. The heated closeness of their embrace was so nice a feeling that Sherlock enjoyed it for as long as possible, not wanting to return to the way things were before. Or maybe things had always been this pleasant between them, and that was what had made this closeness so fantastic.

Eventually, Sherlock decided to make an inquiry. “How?”

“Uh, how what?” Poor John was the nervous one now.

“How did you escape the lift? When?”

“I, uh, I noticed some controls inside the lift while we were, um, talking. I went for them as soon as I saw you close your eyes.” John shrugged guiltily. “I suppose that it makes sense, though, that there’d be controls inside the lift, too. And by then, you’d already, you know…. Anyway, I’m really sorry about all this, it, it wasn’t fair of me. I still want to be friends, if you want to be…”

“I’ll go with you.” 

John shined with awe. “What…?”

Sherlock kissed him on the lips. “I’ll go with you to the surface. Really, do try to keep up, John!” He turned away and fastidiously pulled his clothes back on.

John was speechless. “You’ll really go with me? ‘Cause, I was going to stay here with—”

“No, this place is getting boring,” Sherlock interrupted. “I’m bored. It’s awful and I hate it. The surface can’t be more boring than this.”

Disbelieving laughter suited John very well, in Sherlock’s not-so-humble opinion.

They entered the lift together, and they held hands obviously as they rode it to freedom.

The lift stopped a minute later, and vomited the two out into a large room with an artificial sun, a green waste pit between them and the next door, and still another level further up. Their apparent escape had been nothing more than a ruse. They were still trapped.

“Damn it!”

“Whew!”

Sherlock and John glanced at each other, and laughed.

Despite everything, even John was a little relieved that they wouldn’t have to face the real world just yet. “So, what now?”

“Now, we will get across the chasm!” Sherlock shot an orange portal to the high ceiling above, and aimed his device at John’s feet. “Ready?”

John smiled childishly, and then bit his lip. “Well, bugger.”

Sherlock quirked his brow. “I love you.” Then he fired the portal and sent John flying in more ways than one.

End.


End file.
